RED
by S J Smith
Summary: She has reasons for not liking the color red. Variations on a theme, focusing on Winry.
1. Coral

RED

S J Smith

Disclaimer: I have no rights to either the manga nor series entitled **Fullmetal Alchemist**. Just playing around with an idea.

Summary: She doesn't like the color red. Variations on a theme focusing on Winry.

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**Coral**

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Pinako Rockbell peered through her glasses at her granddaughter. She remembered all too well being Winry's age, having young men ask her out, the giddiness of it all. But for a girl getting clothing together to go to the big city, Winry didn't seem quite as excited as Pinako thought she should. And she didn't quite understand it, either.

The dressmaker was showing off her best wares, pretty fabrics that flowed and shimmered. She chatted knowledgeably about the latest styles and fashions. She listened to the reason Winry was going to Central and suggested an outfit or two, pointing out specific patterns that would be attractive and sophisticated without being too old for a young woman. And finally, Winry decided what she'd like to have, so all that needed for the work to be started was the choice of fabrics and colors.

The dressmaker brought out swatches of fabrics, laying them out for Pinako and Winry to inspect. She raised up one, placing it against Winry's arm. "This would look beautiful on you, dear," she said, "this coral color is so rich and with your coloring, it definitely suits you."

Winry eyed the fabric like she might a washer that somehow had gotten in with the screws. "No," she said politely, "thank you."

Later, when they left the dressmaker, Pinako said, "You know, she was right, Winry. That fabric was lovely and it would've looked verynice on you. Why didn't you want it?"

Winry raised her head, staring off at the sky. It was clear and blue, not a blemish to be seen. Her own eyes held the clouds as she said, "I won't wear red, Granny. That's Ed's color."


	2. Crimson

**Crimson**

Sometimes, she had nightmares. They only came when she felt particularly stressed; either over a commission or sometimes just over life itself. Sometimes, they were about her parents. In her dreams, they walked off the porch of the house, turning once to wave at her, then simply vanished and no matter how hard she ran after, she couldn't find them.

But other nights, she dreamed of crimson; thick and sticky and moving oh so sluggishly as it dripped from Edward's missing limbs. He'd be white, so pale; laying in a pool of blood that slowly rose around her as she frantically tried to staunch the bleeding. But it would keep rising, drowning her ankles and her knees; lapping over Ed's chest until she'd pull him up, trying to hold him against her, anything to keep him from going under.

The flood was relentless though, and Ed so heavy and slippery that she couldn't keep hold of him. He'd slither out of her arms and the last thing she'd see was his face, his eyes opening in horror and his hand reaching for her, just before he went under.

Winry would wake, panting, gasping, crying and remind herself that Edward had lived, he hadn't died, that he was somewhere out there, looking for the Philosopher's Stone.

But always, for the next few days, it seemed like all she could smell would be the scent of blood.


	3. Blood

**Blood**

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It didn't matter to her that Alphonse's heart didn't beat. That there wasn't a body inside that armor. That the only thing left of him here was his soul. He was still Al, after all, a significant part of her life.

So what if they weren't related in any way. He was as close to her as if he were her brother, held with ties that bound as surely as if they were blood.

Someday, soon, she expected to see him running up the path leading to the Rockbell house, a boy again, the armor left behind, no longer needed. And she'd welcome him home, the way the older sister would always welcome home her baby brother.

But she wasn't sure she trusted equivalent exchange the way the Elrics did. She'd seen first hand what alchemy could do and despite her knowing that Edward and Alphonse had learned so much more than they had known then, she worried that maybe Al's body would have a very high rate of exchange.

So, some nights, to light the way, she'd sit on the balcony and flick a lamp on and off, a reminder to Alphonse that it was time to come home. She only prayed that his older brother would be with him.


	4. Rose

**Rose**

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Winry knew Edward's scars, could almost draw them by heart. The flesh rucked up where it met the metal docking for his arm; it bunched and puckered at the seat for his prosthetic leg. She didn't like to think that she'd helped make them but there was truth in that, too; that the flesh she and Granny had tended to had also been warped to accept the metal for the automail attachments. They didn't fade, those scars; they always were darker than the skin around them; a sort of a rose color. 

Those were the scars she knew. They were familiar; understood.

It was the new ones, wrapped in strips of white gauze, that made her worry.


	5. Blush

**Blush**

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With thanks to Silvrethorn, who made suggestions to turn this into something that made sense.

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She wasn't dressed for the weather. Sometime between her departure from Resembool and her arrival in Central, it had gotten cold and her skirt and light jacket weren't enough to protect her from the chill. By the time the train pulled into the station, her skin felt like one gigantic goose bump and she was shivering so much, she wasn't sure she'd be able to walk off the train.

It was easy to spot Alphonse, towering over the crowds of hugging people, running children and luggage handlers, swearing at the running children. She couldn't see Edward, though that really wasn't much of a surprise. He probably wouldn't stand on a bench to look across the surge of humanity just for her. Wrapping her arms around herself, she made her way towards Al, bouncing off of people and apologizing.

"There she is!" Al's voice rang out with a metallic echo and, despite the fact she knew the face plate of his helmet didn't move, she could almost swear he was smiling. "Winry! Over here!"

She managed to make her way through the last of the people, finally reaching her friends. "Hi Al, hi Ed," she managed to say through chattering teeth.

"What's wrong with you?" Ed asked, blunt as ever.

"Are you all right?" Alphonse asked at the same time, leaning over to study her more closely.

Winry tried to turn her wince into an embarrassed grin, rubbing at the back of her neck. "I didn't know it was going to be so cold," she said.

Rolling his eyes, Edward said, "It's autumn," as if that meant anything to her back home.

"Brother, it's warmer in Resembool," Al scolded gently. "Even if you're used to it, Winry isn't."

With an aggravated sigh, Ed shucked off his long red jacket, holding it out to her. When she hesitated, he bounced it in front of her. "Do you want to freeze to death?"

Winry accepted the jacket and tugged it on, reveling in the borrowed warmth. "Thank you, Ed," she said softly.

"Yeah, well, don't get too attached to it or anything. It's just a loan." He pointed at her. "You wait here. Al and I'll get your bags."

"It's really good to see you, Winry," Al said, trailing off in Edward's wake.

It didn't take long for them to sort out her things and take them to the hotel where she would be staying. All she really wanted to do was curl up in her warm bed once they arrived but Ed insisted that she needed a jacket of her own and some different clothing. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd gone through her luggage just to see for himself what she'd brought but either Al restrained him or he'd learned some manners somewhere along the line. So, still wearing Ed's jacket, she went with the brothers to find some warmer clothes.

The wind felt like it was funneled through the city streets, whipping and twirling around her specifically. She huddled close in that red jacket, her head bowed as Ed led her into a shop. It felt warm inside and she dared loosen her grip on herself.

There were marvelous clothes here, colorful, warm; pretty fabrics and prettier designs and she forgot herself and marveled with her mouth hanging open.

A saleswoman dressed in lovely, tailored clothing appeared from behind a curtain. "May I help you?"

Edward reached into his pocket, pulling out his watch. Showing the case with the crest on it to the saleswoman, he hooked a thumb at Winry, still dumbfounded by the largess surrounding her. "She needs a warm jacket." He glanced over his shoulder. "And some warmer clothes, too."

"Of course, sir." She gestured to Winry. "If you'll come with me?"

Winry forced her feet to move, following the woman into the dressing rooms. They were curtained off from the rest of the store with three mirrors in front of her, angled so she could see herself from different angles. She looked a fright; hair a mess, wrong clothes for the weather, wearing Edward's jacket. Winry wished she could melt into the floor.

"Wait here, miss," the salesclerk said. "I'll bring in some clothing for you to try on." She glided out of the room, leaving Winry alone with her triple reflection. She wanted to turn away from the mirrors but felt like she couldn't.

There was a rustle of fabric behind her but no corresponding reflection in the mirror. Still, Winry looked behind her when she heard a voice whisper, "Who is that boy in the store? Is his mother here somewhere?"

"That boy, Sonja," the woman answered, "is a State Alchemist."

The first voice exclaimed, "He's just a child!"

"Not so young," the woman sneered. "He brought his woman for us to dress."

Winry found her legs moving of their own volition, striding across the dressing room. She yanked open the curtains, finding the saleswomen on the other side. The women studied Winry, silence stretching like taffy and all the warmth the girl had felt earlier seemed sucked right out of the air. She didn't have to ask herself what the saleswomen must think. Winry could see it in the pursing of their mouths, the tightening of their eyes.

Her face stained scarlet, she pushed her way into the main part of the store, stammering, "Ed, I don't think we'll find anything for me here." Turning on her heel, she made her way for the door, tears stinging her eyes. Shoving her way outside over Edward's protests, she turned left abruptly, just wanting to get away from that saleswomen and their dirty minds.

"Winry?" Al's voice followed her down the street, along with the clanking sound of his armor on the move. "What's wrong?"

Edward wasn't so gentle. "Winry!" he shouted. "Stop right there!"

Now she was being chased by a military man. With a low groan, she glanced for a place to hide, to get away from the prying eyes that seemed to surround her. Spotting a park, she dashed for the entrance, neatly avoiding a truck, a bicyclist and three women pushing baby carriages before making it through the gate.

Running was something Winry did very well and she was never so glad of it as now. She followed the twists and turns of the path under her feet, dodging around the few people risking the weather. Someone laughed at her, his voice raised in an unintelligible shout but she knew what he had to think. It just added more speed to her feet.

But she couldn't keep running forever. What started as a stitch in her side soon felt like someone shoving a sword through her ribs. Gasping, she staggered a little farther along, dragging Ed's coat off her shoulders and flinging it to the ground. There was a tree ahead, one that reminded her of a big oak tree she'd always loved. Making her way there, she slipped around the far side of it, away from the path, dropping down amongst the roots gnarled up from the ground.

Wrapping her arms around her bare legs, she leaned her forehead against her knees. The cold wind found her again, twisting itself around her, chilling her sweat-dampened skin. She shuddered, hunching even more tightly into herself, into the tree. Squeezing her eyes closed tight, she gulped at the tears in her throat.

"Winry! Damn it, where are you?"

Any second now, they'd find her.

"Brother! Your jacket!"

The girl they'd left behind.

"Winry!"

The one too stupid to find out the weather before traveling.

There was a crashing sound; footfalls in leaves and Edward all but yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The girl who looked like the cheap whore of a military man.


	6. Ruby

**Ruby **

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Sometimes, Winry thought she knew as much about the Philosopher's Stone as the Elric brothers. Alphonse had shown up on the Rockbell doorstep, a soul encased in armor, cradling his maimed brother in his arms and after they realized Edward was going to live, and Edward realized he was going to live, the Philosopher's Stone was the brothers' quest. Their hope. Maybe even their reason for living.

Now, Edward lay in a hospital bed, his automail arm across her lap so she could complete the repairs necessary for him to have use of it again. He spoke quietly to her, his head turned away, explaining to her why he hadn't been able to return Al to his body; what he'd found out about the stone's composition.

"I couldn't...not even for Al." He tilted his head, his hair falling over his eyes to shade them further from her gaze. "The thing is, Winry, it's beautiful. The imperfect stone is the same color as a ruby. It almost glows."

Her hands shook and she stopped tightening a bolt.

"Winry?" Lifting himself slightly, Ed turned so he could look at her.

Winry forced a smile. "This isn't threading correctly," she told him, laying a fingertip on the bolt. "Let me see what else I have to work with." She bent over her toolbox, rummaging through the parts and pieces to avoid Edward's eyes. All she could think was the Philosopher's Stone was made of death.

"I just hope I can make Al understand," he said, almost as if he could read her mind.

Winry took a new bolt from its sterilized pouch, settling it into place. She was proud that her voice held steady as she said, "I'm sure you can, Ed. If you can explain it to me, you can explain it to Al."


	7. Russet

A.N.: I have no idea where Al is in this story. He didn't bother telling me. Thanks to Silvrethorn for the readover!

A.N. 2: Happy Yule to D. M. Evans

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Winry loved the market days in autumn; she just wished she had more strength to carry home everything she'd purchased. As it was, her shopping bag was crammed full of crisp, tart apples and a fresh loaf of bread, a packet of bacon and another of sliced, smoked ham, a little package of caramel candies that Nelly had slipped into her bag and wouldn't accept payment for and three orange yams. If Granny hadn't gotten into an argument with the local blacksmith about smelting ore, she might've been able to help but Winry wasn't going to stick around for the end of that fight. Besides, it would wind up in the local pub and Granny might even wind up staying in town rather than walk home in the dark.

Not that Winry cared, she didn't mind walking home by herself. It gave her time to think about her latest projects or daydream. Or, like today, just enjoy the afternoon. In the fall, when she'd walk from the market, the sun would slant down over her shoulder, as if lighting the way home. Leaves of gold and russet bobbed on trees or drifted in heaps along the roads. She couldn't resist walking through them, kicking her feet to make that wonderful crunching sound.

As she topped the last hill before her house, the sun obligingly winked on the sign reading "Rockbell Automail." Winry smiled, shifting her bag from one shoulder to the other. As much as she enjoyed the market, it was always nice to get home. As she drew nearer, she realized something was different than when they'd left that morning.

The door to the house stood open.

"Did we forget to close it?" she asked herself. Worry slipped along her spine to settle in her stomach. It wasn't so very long ago that a stranger had come through Rizembool, stealing from some of the merchants. Misha, Nelly's older cousin, had been beaten so badly he'd needed to be taken to the hospital after he'd caught the thief in his shop.

The sun didn't seem nearly as warm any more. It would take too long to go back to town and no one lived close enough to go to for help. Winry straightened her shoulders. She wasn't going to just let someone walk away with their money or steal any of the automail in the shop.

Setting her groceries next to the stoop, Winry climbed the steps to the porch. Her feet automatically avoided the board that squeaked as slowly, cautiously; holding her breath, she entered her home.

Though she'd never exactly been a coward, Winry wondered at her own daring. Another part of her wondered at her own stupidity, entering a house where someone might be lying in wait for her. That was the part that knotted her stomach and made her clench her hands. If only Den was still alive. The old dog would've been at the door, welcoming Winry home. Instead, she had to make up her mind whether she was going to enter the house, find out if someone was actually in there.

The sunlight threw her shadow before her, stretching it out to absurdity along the hall. Slowly, slowly, she crept along, her body pressed against the wall so her shadow wouldn't alert anyone she was there. She stopped and looked in each room, listening closely, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, nothing out of place. Finally, she could look into the living room from the doorway and she paused, drawing a breath, a hand curled over her hammering heart.

A man lay sprawled on the couch, his eyes closed. The last rays of the sun glinted on a line of stubble along his jaw and licked at the hollow of his exposed throat. Hair framed his face messily and his mouth was open just a little. From the slow rise of his chest, Winry knew he slept. Her gaze traveled slowly, wonderingly, along the line of one arm, his left elbow hanging off the edge of the sofa. Seeing a flash of flesh where his shirt should've met his trousers, her breath caught in her throat.

Blinking, Winry ghosted into the room, avoiding the pitfalls of medical books she needed to reshelf and a stool that had somehow made its way to the middle of the floor. Sinking to her knees, almost as if her strength had left her all at once, she stared at the figure on her sofa. Throat tightening, Winry wondered if this was a hallucination. She'd wanted to come home and find Edward so many times and yet, the wish had remained unfulfilled. Her hand seemed to move of its own volition, rising jerkily but still rising, moving slow as if the air around it had thickened and it took effort to push through. Her fingers were clumsy as they bumped into his shoulder and she jerked them back so fast but the imprint of warm fabric still stung her fingertips.

Cradling that hand as if were burnt, Winry allowed herself to believe, at least a little. Her throat wouldn't loosen to speak his name but she felt it hitch. She covered her mouth, feeling water on her cheeks – another surprise. And the sunlight gilded his sleeping form, making him appear to her like some god fallen from the sky.

The illusion was spoiled when he snorted, rolling onto his side, his right arm dangling off the sofa cushion; his hand dropping onto her thigh. The metal was cool, even through her long skirt and that, more than anything convinced Winry that this wasn't a dream. Eyes closing, she smudged her tears with the heel of her hand and with a shuddering sigh, gently moved Edward's hand off her leg. Rising to her feet, she stared down at his face. A cheekbone rose in sharp relief, reddish-orange light burnishing it and sinking into the faint hollow below it. Winry wondered at the changes time had made; since she'd last seen him, the boy had grown into a man.

She wanted to touch him; a fleeting thought making her choke down a giggle, that like the beauty, he could be awakened with a kiss. Instead, Winry left the room as quietly as she'd entered it. For now, she'd let Ed sleep.

It was enough for now that he'd come home.


	8. Ruddy

A.N.: This story was partially inspired by the lovely art bydzioo in her Thirty Angsty Words" challenge response. The particular piece is # 22, "A Place To Sleep".

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The voices rose and fell, laughter sometimes punctuating the conversation taking place down the hall and around the corner. Alex Louis Armstrong had excused himself earlier in the evening to allow the family, for what else were the Rockbell women and the Elric brothers if not a family, a chance to catch up without an outsider's intrusion. He wasn't sure how long he'd been laying in the spare bed but the voices were becoming more quiet and finally, he heard Ms. Pinako saying her goodnights. She padded down the hall past his door and he heard the faint creak and click of her shutting out the rest of the house. Of course she'd leave the children time to talk together, as well. Armstrong smiled slightly at the older woman's sensitivity.

The voices were lower now, a faint murmur that blended with the sounds of crickets outside the house. He realized he must have drowsed off when a soft, clanking noise interrupted his sleep. Blinking, Armstrong listened as Alphonse Elric left the house. He waited but when it seemed the boy was unlikely to return, curiosity pulled Armstrong from his bed.

As he opened the door of his room, Armstrong heard a yelp. Moving quickly down the hall, he mentally praised his forefathers for passing down their inherent stealthiness. He hesitated outside the living room, listening closely as Miss Winry said, "Don't be such a baby, Ed. This has to be more comfortable than using your arm as a pillow." She laughed soft and low. "Look. You've got an imprint of your wrist on your cheek."

"It's kinda hard to look at my face without a mirror," Edward Elric complained.

"There's a rivet and a joint hinge. I don' t know how you didn't pinch yourself."

"Lots of practice," came the somewhat testy reply which turned panicky with the question, "What are you doing?"

"Shh, you'll wake Mr. Armstrong," Miss Winry scolded.

Edward lowered his voice but the irritated note increased. "You haven't explained what you're doing."

"Can you think of something better for me to be doing with my hands?"

The mischievous tone in her voice made Armstrong's eyes widen and he risked a peep around the doorframe. Edward's head was pillowed on Miss Winry's thigh. The girl grinned down at him as she threaded her fingers through his hair. The boy's face was ruddy with embarrassment and his scowl would give strong men pause. "Winry," he growled.

"Edward," she said back in the same tone. Her expression softened. "I've missed you."

He folded his arms stiffly. "We're here now, right Al?" Armstrong ducked back as the boy sat up abruptly. "Where's Al?"

"He went outside to look at the stars. He said we ought to have a chance to talk alone."

"And you let him go?" There was a thump-clunk of Edward's feet hitting the floor.

"What was I going to do, tie him up?" Miss Winry asked tartly. "Ed," her voice cajoled the boy, "please sit back down with me."

The sigh was exasperated. "I don't want to leave Al alone, Winry. He doesn't deserve it."

"What about what I deserve, Edward? How long has it been? We haven't heard anything from you in four years." She took a deep breath, her voice cracking. "I haven't heard from you - Ed, I wasn't even sure you and Al were alive."

"Winry..." Pleading. For the girl not to cry? For her to understand? Armstrong didn't dare look, not now.

"Go on," she said thickly, wearily. "I'll...see you in the morning, Edward." There was a rustle and soft footsteps and Armstrong darted into the next room, hiding in the shadows. Miss Winry passed him by and he let out a sigh of relief.

A few seconds later, Edward stomped down the hall after the girl. "Winry," he hissed, catching her before she could mount the stairs at the end of the hall. "Don't do this, please."

She didn't hesitate, climbing the steps. "Good night, Edward."

Shoulders slumped, Edward turned away, walking back down the hall. As he passed the open doorway, he muttered, "Good night, Major Armstrong," and continued out the front door, leaving Armstrong in shock.

The night passed slowly after that but finally, the sun started to appear, brightening the day. Edward refused the breakfast that Ms. Pinako offered to fix, saying that they could get something in the dining car of the train. He was fidgety, obviously ready to leave. Alphonse asked about Winry and was told the girl was still sleeping after staying up to work on Edward's automail the past few nights.

"Don't wake her," Edward said, "I don't want to hear any more about automail maintenance." Armstrong raised an eyebrow at the boy. Edward flushed as he looked back, daring Armstrong to say anything. "C'mon, we should go. We don't want to miss the train." Shouldering his suitcase, Edward started down the path leading away from the Rockbell house. Alphonse turned his palms up at Armstrong and turned to follow his brother.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Ms. Pinako. Please say my farewells to Miss Winry."

The tiny woman crinkled a grin at him. "Keep an eye on my boys, will you, Mr. Armstrong?"

Before he could reply, a shout rang out in the morning air. "Ed! Al!" Both boys hesitated, turning around to see Winry leaning on the railing of the upstairs porch. Wiggling her fingers at them, her sleepy smile seemed almost warmer than the rising sun. "See you later."

Alphonse waved back enthusiastically. "Yeah! See you!"

Edward stared up at her and some of the tension eased from his stance. "Later, Winry," he called back, giving her a wave before turning to leave.

"Take care of yourselves, boys," Pinako shouted after them.

Armstrong knew if he looked back, he'd see the girl on the balcony, the woman on the front stoop, watching them walk into the distance.


	9. Cherry

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Spoilers for Manga chapter 69.

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His first thought on seeing her was, 'Pretty girl.' She moved confidently away from the coach car of the train, collecting her baggage from the porters and glancing around expectantly, her blue eyes oh so curious. Young, he thought, the tip of his tongue moistening his lips, young and pretty.

"Miss Rockbell?"

She raised her gaze to him, a smile crossing her mouth. "Hello," she said, "are you from the military?"

Kimbley smiled back, tugging the brim of his hat politely. "Oh, yes. Sent special just to collect you, Miss Rockbell." He offered to take her bag, not surprised it was heavier than it looked. Women always overpacked. "I have a car waiting over here." He led the way, opening the door for her and stowing the bag in the boot as she settled herself on the seat. "Did you have a good trip?"

"It was long," she said, with a little roll of her eyes.

"I suppose so." Kimbley closed the lid and joined Miss Rockbell in the car, starting the engine. "But you probably have a lot of experience traveling around, being Fullmetal's automail mechanic."

She nodded, tilting her head to peer out the windscreen at the mountains ahead. "I never expected to come here, though."

Kimbley watched her out of the corner of his eye, listening to her just enough to nod and comment in the appropriate spots. He wondered what Fullmetal would do when confronted with this girl; this sweet, innocent girl. Wrapped up in that brand new coat and scarf, tights sheathing her long legs, she peeped at him from eyes blue enough to rival the cloudless sky overhead and he wondered if the boy had ever given her a try. Would Fullmetal even have considered it, wrapping those long legs around his waist and thrusting between them? His mouth practically watered at the thought; of stopping the car and taking this girl. Bet her eyes would open wide then; her sweet voice would go ragged and hoarse and her hair, oh, her hair could knot around his hand, to hold her in place until he was spent between her bloodstained thighs.

He shook his head a little to clear it from the fantasy and completed the drive back to the stronghold, thinking Fullmetal's collar came in far too attractive a package.

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End file.
